


Up to Something

by the_never_was



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Long One-Shot, M/M, Romance, Slytherin Fun, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 21:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13396563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_never_was/pseuds/the_never_was
Summary: In which Blaise Zabini, tired of watching endless, going-nowhere-rivalry decides to do something about it,Draco makes use of a very naughty House secret and leads a certain Gryffindor on a chase,and Harry stalks Draco for more reasons than he's comfortable with feeling.When they're allup to somethingfor their own reasons, it's bound to be entertaining.





	Up to Something

**Author's Note:**

> Characters/Universe belong to JK Rowling.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They shouldn't fool anyone. How the rest don't seem to catch it, he doesn't know, but he has for _years_ , and he's grown quite sick of having to _watch_ it without end.

At first being witness to it was a form of entertainment—nearly like watching a sports tourney every year, each brushing encounter of glares or smirks or harsh, terse words in halls or classes or upon brooms being like small matches with alternating victors. What finally set _him_ off, though, and began to annoy him with his watching instead of enjoying the repeated matches each year with their stronger intensities was that he started to note that as soon as something got _real_ , became _serious_ where a decision might need to be made, both idiots would back away from that final match; unfortunately that final match was often the most anticipated of all, likely by all _three_ of them.

Inevitably, though, it would all be interrupted by something drastic, something affecting the entire school and not just the two for his amused observing, and then his House would often get punished for the unrelated problem. Lots of people blamed his mate for it. Half encouraged his riling at Potter, and the other half were annoyed with him because couldn't he just grow up already and stop costing them House points with their squabbling?

So he waits and watches again this year, this ridiculous excuse of a year where they are all buried face deep in N.E.W.T.s preparations and little else. He waits for the matches to resume, for the tourney to begin anew with clean slates between the pair of them since the definitive events of the past months, but to his shock nothing happens. Potter goes about his business with his mixed House crowd of friends, and Malfoy withdraws into himself in a way he never has—just sits through each class silently, elbowing him at dinner occasionally if he can manage to agitate the pale snake just enough.

Just as he wondered how they ever fooled anyone before with the real intentions behind those matches of theirs, Blaise Zabini wonders now why they think they're fooling themselves by pretending it's all over. For he's seen Potter staring deeply at the back of Draco's head when Malfoy isn't paying any attention in class, stuck in his new melancholy, and he's witnessed his mate look almost _longingly_ after Potter when the Gryffindor sits to eat in the Great Hall at breakfast.

The both of them are digging into his already very busy schedule by making him think far too much about _them_ and their ridiculous behaviors, and he'll be damned if he won't get _something_ for it.

Thus, he makes a decision he hopes will kick off the matches of the year—that he hopes will lead to a _final_ match worthy of years of stunted expectations.

Blaise drags Draco with him through the dungeons, ignoring the bitching at his back from the posh git demanding to be let go, and he stops only when he stands before the magicked bit of wall. Zabini pulls his wand out, mutters the secret incantation taught to him by his uncle, and the alcove shows itself.

Draco steps around him, pale eyes standing out against their slight spots of purple around them, and he peers into the dark hole with a sneer. “The bloody hell is that? Are you planning to throw me in there and kill me, finally, or what? Don't think I haven't caught onto your annoyed looks lately.”

“If I were planning on killing you, I doubt I'd bring you to a place of enjoyment first,” Blaise mutters and points. “This is a House secret my uncle taught me, a...special...hidden spot passed down from Slytherin to Slytherin among certain circles.”

Malfoy frowns at him. “Father's never mentioned it before.”

“Yes, well, perhaps Lucius Malfoy was kept out of its secrecy in case he tried to dominate the shared space,” Blaise explains, knowing damn well that's what his own uncle has told him.

“So, what is it?” Draco asks eyeballing the hollow space with its built in bench.

Blaise grins and gives him a shove, laughing as Malfoy tumbles inside and catches himself against the wall with a hot glare. “It's for _privacy_ , Draco. It's for relieving _stress_. Merlin knows you're in desperate need. So get it out of your system, and remember we have times and rotations for this space. Pick yours, and I'll note it.”

When he backs away for the alcove to cover again, Malfoy panics and tries to stand, nearly bashing his skull against the small space. “Wait! What are you doing, you prick? You can't just wall me up in here!”

“It's a timed spell, you idiot. You'll be out as soon as you're _done_.”

“Done doing _what_ , Zabini?”

Blaise's lip curls up in a smirk. He makes a fist that he jerks with a _knowing_ expression, sees Draco's eyes widen dramatically, and steps forward long enough to add as the spell begins to take effect on the wall, “I imagine it'll be over quick if you think about Potter. Don't forget to clean up.”

The last thing he hears before the alcove's magic seals over is an infuriated shout of how _fucked_ he is when Draco finds a way out of the bloody space, and that he _is not_ going to think of _Potter_.

 

\----

 

He hates Zabini, the fucking shit. Locking him in here with magic in some sort of spelled space, and for what? His own amusement at inducing claustrophobia as Draco cannot even stand upright?

Draco breathes rapidly, forces himself to sit down upon the bench, and holds his burning face in his cool palms.

So there's a House secret he didn't know about, a special _spot_ they've traditionally used to get away with wanking through the day and being able to avoid bathrooms as a result.

It's honestly a bit shocking, and though he approves of the ingenuity of it all, Draco is still unnerved by Blaise's last words. They're revealing, terrifying Draco that apparently his mate is _aware_ of his bizarre, silent feelings for Potter.

He's managed to avoid the Chosen One as much as possible the last couple months of this strange term mostly because he has no answers to questions he knows Potter wants to ask. Draco doesn't know why he spared him at the Manor, and he doesn't know why he tossed the idiot his wand in the end, risking his own fucking neck in a rash of Gryffindor-like courage that _still_ makes him feel strange about himself.

All he does know about that moment is that with Potter seeming dead he'd felt dead himself, resigned to doom, and wishing it was already all over. But the second Potter had tumbled from Hagrid's arms to stare that monster down, Draco had felt hope—true hope—for the first time, along with relief his brain can't begin to catalog somewhere in his subconscious's well of feelings for Potter.

Nonetheless all Potter's done since is toss his wand back to him with great, visible gratitude and eyes loaded with questions, and Draco's done well avoiding him with just a few routine snipes when they grow too near one another to let things seem normal on the outside to the rest. But on the inside he's draining to the point of wondering why he's still here, still enduring glares and arguments, still being distrusted by Potter's friends.

Draco forces his breathing to slow and rubs his his eyes.

He's not sure what Zabini's true motive is, but the Slytherin in him _knows_ there's something going on inside his friend's head that has only just begun its plotting.

At first he's quite determined to wait out the magic and flee the area in case Blaise is watching for his exit. But then he thinks back to what Zabini had said—that the space is timed, yes, but he'll only be let out when he's performed the intended action the magic is covering from others.

Blushing furiously, he sits up as much as possible and brings his wand out with a soft _Lumos_ so he can see how tight the space really is. He imagines some brave students carved the niche for themselves long ago, and that that is why it's so awkwardly shaped, and it doesn't cross his mind that its outline might be made for another _position_ of sorts that requires a partner.

Draco swallows as he stares down at his own lap.

If he's honest, taking Blaise's suggestion wouldn't be so far fetched. After all, Draco's already been sneaking such moments very late at night in the dorm bathrooms when he wakes from dreams of dragging Potter into empty classrooms and screaming everything in his tortuous heart and mind at the idiot before throwing Potter over a table and snogging the life out of him.

He blows out a deep breath when enough seconds pass that indicate he likely _will_ have to do what he must in order to get out of the alcove.

Pale fingers slide to unbutton trousers.

A cool palm takes hold of heat between his legs that starts to harden more.

And Draco conjures up Potter's questioning gaze and submits, groaning and hoping the magicked hole in the wall is as silenced as it is invisible.

 

\----

 

Oh, he's up to something.

His grey eyes dart about more than usual in the afternoons a couple days a week, and he disappears between classes where he'd once been easy to track straight to the library.

It's irritated him enough because where those grey eyes had often been pretending to look away from him as though they'd never been settling on him at all, now they're _really_ avoiding him at all times.

Some people would tell him to take the reprieve. Years ago, he'd probably even tell himself so.

But not now. Not when he's been burning in a unique way when he's caught those grey eyes staring at him softly while no one else is paying any attention.

Harry briefly checks his watch, waits for the ticking arms to cross at two-thirty in the afternoon, and when they do he looks quickly to the magicked Map upon his lap, green eyes roaming for that name that's haunted his sleep so heavily for months, if not secretly for years before that.

He watches Malfoy's little feet strutting through the dungeons toward the dorms just like they have the last few times he's done this private investigation, and when Malfoy reaches a certain point between the dorms and Snape's old rooms, his feet vanish right off the Map.

Harry's eyes round behind his glasses, and he stares, looking anywhere else in the nearby vicinity of the Maurader's Map, like he has each time before, wondering how Malfoy is doing it. The Map shows everyone on the grounds and in the castle, and it shows even those magicked or hidden by a cloak like his own. So how is it that Malfoy, two days a week at this time of day, just _vanishes_ off the Map entirely?

The watch ticks away for a full five minutes, and then Harry gasps as Malfoy's feet reappear in the _exact_ spot they vanished before they turn and begin to walk toward the halls up to the library.

“How?” he asks his empty dorm room, entirely confused.

The old sense of nagging curiosity stirs in him, and Harry quickly folds the parchment back into his robes and decides to take a fucking stroll to the library, too.

He tells himself it's because Malfoy is clearly up to no good, as usual.

He tells himself it has _nothing_ to do with wanting to know all the whys about his childhood rival's actions the past months.

And Harry is able to fool himself just a little longer as he picks up the pace, weaving through a gaggle of students when he is able to catch a glimpse of that tall, pale head weaving between library stacks of shelves.

Harry pauses between rows, glancing about to be sure no one nearby is paying any attention to him as he yanks out a random book to pretend to peruse. He exhales quietly and steps closer to the shelves in front of him, green eyes just level enough to peer above his cover and spot his prey sitting alone near a window, parchments and Potions texts out before him.

His brows draw down, his brain wracks itself with not only _how_ Malfoy is able to circumvent the Map's power but also _what_ he's doing that requires his disappearance from it.

Because some part of Harry Potter's heart honestly doesn't believe it's something _evil_.

Malfoy hasn't _felt_ the same to him for a long time, far back to when they'd fought in the bathroom and Harry had learned what it really was to feel shame. Just briefly thinking about it makes him clench his eyes and wish again that he'd not used that awful spell.

But Draco Malfoy sits nearby, totally unaware of his thoughts or presence, grumbling to himself about some ingredient counteractions as he scribbles down notes with a black quill.

Harry can't help but stare at him, can't help but keep up this new hidden routine of spying again with different motives, can't help but lie to himself even now as his heart quickens in his chest when Malfoy's pink tongue slides out to caress his full lower lip.

Malfoy's up to something, his brain keeps screaming, refusing to think about anything else.

And Harry swallows, fingers gripping the book tightly in his hands as he continues to hide and stare and ignore the rush through his body when Malfoy runs a tired hand through his gorgeous hair.

 

\----

 

It's working.

Entirely satisfied with himself, Blaise sits across the library watching Potter watch Draco, both of them totally unaware of his personal seat to their special kind of sport.

It makes complete sense that Potter would be as obsessed with Malfoy as Draco is with him. It makes complete sense that Harry Potter would lie to himself even in moments like these about why he's staring after Draco, hiding even to do so, and Blaise knows Harry does because he's figured Potter out in a way Draco has not.

Because he has _seen_ it all without the blinders they have worn for years, and he is _beyond_ ready to see a final match, to see the tally and the results after.

He'd also waited, laughing to himself, as Draco had emerged that first day after using the alcove, looking entirely embarrassed but also _relieved_ , thank fuck. And when Malfoy had come to him later that night in the dorms, asking quietly to be penciled in twice a week after a class that Blaise _knows_ he shares with Potter, Blaise simply nodded and marked it, not needing to push Draco anymore than that.

Blaise had only started following Draco here _after_ the fact _because_ he'd caught Potter doing it. He'd been curious, naturally, as to if that was just a random coincidence at first, but when Potter followed Draco three times after that, Blaise could confidently pat his own shoulder in a job well done.

His dark eyes watch Potter almost drop the book in his clenched hands when Draco accidentally knocks a parchment off the table and bends over to get it.

And he settles into his seat more with a contented sigh, wishing he had some fucking food next to him to finish the arena's image.

 

\----

 

He _does_ feel better, as awkward as that is to consider.

A few weeks of adjusted routine have let him find release in a mental and physical way he never had much before, and Draco now walks down halls a little less annoyed and a lot more confident, gaining his old stride back.

He even throws an old, familiar smirk Potter's way once upon passing the Gryffindor into the Great Hall for dinner, shoving Potter away from him and getting an open mouth with the little glare thrown back.

It's nice to feel like things are getting back to where they used to be. Should be.

And each time Draco endures the Charms class he shares with Potter, feeling those green eyes squarely upon his back _all_ class, he knows he can break later in the Slytherin alcove, hand around himself and lips parted in a moan, mind running rampant with images of Potter being the one to touch him, of Potter shoving him into a wall outside the Charms room and kissing him senseless.

Of course, it's weird the next times he does see Potter around the school, but Draco simply sneers or pretends to ignore Potter and watches the redness fluster across the back of the Gryffindor's neck either way.

He feels better. More like himself.

But he can't help but wonder what it would be like if these fantasies he allows himself twice a week would ever become more than simple thought.

 

\----

 

After following him for almost a fucking month, Harry is growing desperate.

He doesn't _get it_. He doesn't understand how Malfoy is now disappearing _routinely_ twice a week for times ranging from five minutes to even ten minutes once or twice. He doesn't know how his rival reappears and walks about as if _not_ disappearing at all, as if everything is as it should be.

It's starting to prick at him, at that nagging curiosity and need to know.

It's agitating his waking mind and doing weird things to his constantly racing heart.

And it's doing _even stranger_ things to the rest of him.

One morning he wakes up, gasping, from a dream of yelling at Malfoy in the library with his demand of answers to _everything_ , only to have the posh prick smirk and Harry reach across and grab that pale hair to kiss the bloody expression off the fucking Slytherin. He wakes up terrified to tented sheets and an erection that _refuses_ to go away in the early dawn hours.

Panicked at the thousand questions entering his mind as a result of seeing and feeling evidence of _something_ inside of him that he's avoided, Harry runs for the bathroom silently and hides in the shower, telling himself to cool off.

But he can't. He can't stop seeing that smirk of knowledge on Malfoy's face, and he can't stop feeling that need to kiss it away, can't _not_ see himself do so in the dream with want bordering begging.

What the _fuck_ is wrong with him?

Rather than examine it, Harry turns on a cold, alerting shower, and later that morning awkwardly glances towards Malfoy's table at breakfast, green eyes taking in the fresh look the snake seems to have about him as he retorts something Zabini's just said. Malfoy looks healthier than he has, thankfully, and Harry just _knows_ it has something to do with why he's vanishing twice a week. Something is helping Malfoy, and though Harry _is_ glad for that, he _wants_ to know what.

Needs to know before it breaks his fucking mind.

Armed with the Map in his pocket, Harry decides to try something different this time. Instead of following him to the library in hopes that Malfoy will give some sort of clue up then, he's going to follow him right after their class.

It's not easy. There's lots of people trying to talk to him in the way, and Harry politely tries to weave through them, green eyes solely focusing on the tall pale Slytherin elegantly walking down the hall away from the crowd dispersing from class.

Harry manages to untangle himself from some of the people and strides after Malfoy a bit, hoping to seem as if bored and going to speak to Slughorn for some advice in the dungeons.

When Malfoy suddenly changes direction far ahead, breaking off from the small group he'd been walking with and going elsewhere alone, Harry grunts in annoyance. If he follows now, people will notice what he's doing. After all, there's no reason for him to head towards the Slytherin dorms.

Cursing to himself, Harry ducks between halls and quickly yanks the Map out with a fast muttering of its opening phrase. His eyes instantly pin down Malfoy's feet a few halls away from him now, and as he debates risking it, going past that group talking at the end of where he'd lost sight of his prey, Malfoy's feet disappear again.

“Fucking _crap_ ,” Harry grunts under his breath, one fist hitting the wall next to him.

Even if he waits for Malfoy to reappear, he hears a crowd coming up from the dorms' way for class change, and they _will_ see him and likely babble about it.

His brain stirs when the obvious idea hits him, and finally, _finally_ , Harry smiles.

He's got one opportunity left this week to find out what Malfoy's up to, and _this time_ , he's bringing his cloak.

 

\----

 

The matches are fantastic.

Blaise finds himself keeping notes during moments in the Great Hall or the library. Little marks under Draco's name appear for each smirk or sneer that seem to rattle Potter over dinner, in the halls, or _once_ in the library when Potter's sneaking skills fail him and Draco rises to get another text and finds him awkwardly nose-first in a book Potter hastily grabbed, titled _The Young Wizard's Guide to Romance_.

Blaise even awards _extra_ points to Draco for the way Malfoy had caught the title, sneered, and quietly asked Potter just how well the text was aiding him in romancing the Weasel. Potter, of course, had snapped some nonsense Draco's way before even knowing what was being talked about, before even looking at the cover of the book in his fucking hands, and then he'd blushed severely as he quickly shoved it back on a shelf and ran for his scrap of dignity.

However, Potter earns his own extra points, too.

One particular match Blaise awards Potter victory because Potter manages to rattle Draco well enough by plopping down outside near where Malfoy and Blaise had sat on the weekend, both bickering about N.E.W.T.s. Blaise pretends to not pay a lick of attention while Draco grows continuously uncomfortable from Potter's blatant staring before the idiot Gryffindor walks past with a likely unconsciously sensual strut and a smirk.

Blaise marks the tally as Draco's grey eyes follow Potter's arse away, teeth over his lip, and he settles into his spot on the ground more, counting points.

By a month and a half, they're already tied up.

It's gone _much_ faster this term compared to the never finishing tourneys in the past, and Blaise can only guess what that might mean.

But he does know it has to indicate a hell of a final match is coming soon, and he, for one, can't wait for it to be over, preferably with the two bastards off somewhere alone and keeping their nonsense out of his damn face the rest of the year.

 

\----

 

He comes with a moan to the visual in his head of Potter on his knees with that often scowling mouth soft and warm around his cock, and Draco's stomach clenches harder. But even as he sighs in relief of tension from Potter's ridiculous staring contest in Charms today, he feels a bit empty, too.

Nothing will ever come from it. He knows that. Nothing ever can.

They're forever trapped in their roles, and that's simply that.

It pisses him off, but he gets it, and that's why he's even stopped glancing Potter's way at dinner when he sees Weasley's sister sitting so close to the person he wants more than anything.

When he spells himself clean, zips up, and exits the magical alcove, Draco shakes his head, smiling and briefly wondering if Potter will be using another random book in the library as an excuse to spy on him again today.

But the melancholy hits again, stealing the smile away.

For if Potter is spying on him, it's likely he still only thinks the worst of Draco, and Draco then doesn't know if he's better off cutting these needs entirely out of him or if he's only making things worse by using the stupid secret room to enable the desire.

He does pause, though, after the wall closes up.

Draco looks about, frowning, because he could _swear_ that he felt watched just now.

Grey eyes suspiciously glance about him finding nothing but empty hall despite that feeling still being there, and Draco eventually shrugs and adjusts his bag over his shoulder as he walks on towards the library in his routine.

\----

 

Okay, so now he knows sort of _where_ Malfoy goes, but he has no idea why still or what Malfoy's up to for those few minutes he's gone.

Harry waits until Malfoy is far enough away to slide the cloak from his body, wiping the bit of nervous sweat from his brow. His heart's pounding the way it used to do when he'd sneak about Hogwarts with his hunches, but the rest of him is also reacting lively, too: His nerves are almost electric and jerking his limbs, and when he'd seen Malfoy emerge from the bit of wall he'd entered, Harry had stared in shock.

Malfoy had looked _happy_ for a moment, smiling to himself in a way that made him _handsome_ , and then he'd immediately frowned and gotten almost _despondent_ , and Harry has no fucking clue why.

But he wants to know. Badly. Something about that smile was so _nice_ to see. Something about it makes his chest and stomach do funny things and makes his trousers feel a bit uncomfortably tight.

Harry tails after Malfoy to the library, changing his plan from following Malfoy next week and watching him enter and exit the random bit of hidden space on the Map to deciding to _really_ see what Malfoy's doing in there by going in after him.

 

\----

 

Blaise wakes to Malfoy's soft little moans with wide eyes.

He hears the thrashing, knows Draco is deeply asleep, but try as he might to smother himself to death with his pillow to not hear Potter's bloody name being _moaned_ so closely nearby, he hears it all.

He hears Draco beg and plead, demand and groan.

And then he hears something that changes the nature of his game entirely.

“I fucking hate that I love you,” Draco whimpers, dead asleep, and finally goes silent.

Blaise Zabini lies staring up at the canopy of his bed, now feeling a mild sense of guilt for his part in possibly making Draco's situation worse. Because while he'd always imagined Draco to be attracted to Potter in their rivalry, he's _never_ guessed his mate is in _love_.

“Fuck,” Blaise grunts and rubs his face.

He's got to fix it somehow, got to do something to spare Draco the backlash of the final match coming lest it destroys his mate's soft emotions hidden from even Malfoy himself.

 

\----

 

Draco starts suspecting Blaise is acting strange when at breakfast the next morning Zabini sits across from him instead of beside him, blocking his usually open view of Potter.

Blaise acts like nothing is different as he butters his toast and reaches for jam and tea, and Draco frowns at him, but in the end lets it go while trying to glance over Zabini's tall form to Potter in the Great Hall. Draco flushes slightly when he sees Potter trying to do the same thing, leaning left and right to see around Blaise's back to get a look at him, too.

He smiles to himself and picks at his eggs, wondering why Potter's doing so, why Potter was also in the library last Thursday just as he'd expected him to be, standing between aisles with another irrelevant book and pretending to read each time Draco peeked through the rows at him.

It's clear Potter's up to something. It's likely Potter believes _him_ up to something, though why, he doesn't know.

And it's only when Draco sits down to Charms and catches that hot, determined green gaze on him that Draco remembers feeling watched last week, and he suddenly _knows_.

When he leaves class this time, debating if he should even try for the alcove for his slotted appointment at all now, he hears the steps behind him, muffled, but firmly following.

 

\----

 

Harry hisses under his breath and invisibility cloak as he follows Malfoy towards the strange magicked spot, only to be stopped by Blaise Zabini grabbing Malfoy's arm and taking him elsewhere determinedly.

He stops trailing them as Zabini drags his person of interest towards the dorms, not stopping despite the arguing echoing down the halls behind them. Zabini's never interfered with the routine that Harry knows of, and he's watched it fucking closely enough the past couple months to know.

He doesn't understand what's going on, but he believes Zabini knows what Malfoy is up to and has been doing all this time. Zabini had been standing exactly near where the spot was, as if he knew its precise location, and likely also its purpose.

So what the fuck could it be that _Zabini_ stops Malfoy from entering to do?

Harry slips the cloak off once he gets to a secluded spot far enough out of the dungeons and tucks it into his bag with annoyance.

He'd been so fucking excited to trail Malfoy today. He'd felt so _close_ to figuring out the mystery.

As Harry runs for the library, hoping Malfoy will show within the hour there, he remembers Zabini changing his usual spot at the Slytherin table this morning.

While the need to know Malfoy's secret is burning hotly within him, Harry feels strangely jealous of Zabini's sudden behavior and equally, bizarrely, protective of Draco Malfoy, too.

 

\----

 

Fucking close. Too fucking close.

Blaise brings Draco back to the dorms and shuts the door with a sigh.

“Mind letting me in on just _why_ you interrupted...my...scheduled time?” Draco asks behind him, unnerved and annoyed.

What is he to say? The truth? That he feels actually a little guilty for encouraging something _emotional_ in his mate that might get fucking trampled to death soon? That he'd _seen_ Potter put that fucking cloak on and tail Draco down the hall?

None of it, that's what.

Blaise rubs his lips together as he thinks quickly, turning to see Malfoy uncomfortably sitting on the edge of his bed staring at him. “We just need to reschedule,” he replies, thinking that might work.

“Reschedule? But you...Blaise, you _said_ our times were our own,” Draco snaps, frowning and crossing his arms. “Why the hell should I rearrange my time?”

“Look, I just work the books, Draco. It's nothing personal.” Blaise exhales. “Someone else has asked for it. He's not been able to make his earlier times lately, and your slot happens to work a lot better. You can move yours a day, can't you?”

Draco sneers at him with a scoffing, “No. I need it on _those days_ specifically.”

“Gotta get him out of your system, hm?” Blaise teases, but genuinely feels a little bad as his friend flinches.

Malfoy shrugs off the question and sits in silence, looking to the floor, and Zabini feels the guilt eat him even more. Guilt he _never_ would have felt in his fucking life if he hadn't actually grown to give a real shit about Draco as a friend the last few months of needing to band together and survive the hatred of the rest of Hogwarts.

“Can you deal with his effects long enough if we just move the time down an hour or two?” he offers, hoping that might be enough to throw Potter off sniffing after Draco until he can discern Potter's real motivation.

He stares Draco down until his mate sighs and stands to go back to the library.

“Fine,” Draco mutters. “Four o'clock.”

“Done, mate.”

“Don't think I believe your excuse for a second, Blaise,” Draco grumbles, glaring at him hotly and coming close for a moment as he opens their door. “I don't know _what_ you're doing, but I know you've been doing _something_ for a while now. Just stay out of my fucking business.”

Damn it.

Blaise casually raises a hand, hoping to throw Malfoy off as he grunts, “Oh, believe me, I don't want anything to _do_ with your 'fucking' business, Draco.”

Draco chokes with embarrassment, scowls, and slams the door behind him as Blaise falls back to his bed in relief.

 

\----

 

Draco sits in the library, not surprised when he finds Potter entering minutes after he does and pretending to browse about again.

Potter isn't fooling him at this point. He's clearly stalking Draco, and while some part of it is kinky as fuck and exciting, Draco's gut tells him it's not for a _fun_ reason he can make into something productive between the two of them.

He _knows_ Potter followed him earlier, likely in his cloak. He figures Potter has followed him there already at least once before. But he also knows there's no way Potter has any idea what he's doing in the wall when he vanishes. It's a Slytherin secret, and there's no fucking possibility that it's been shared outside of tight circles within his House over the years.

So, likely, his different routine has just snagged Potter's fixated curiosity is all.

It might even be Draco's own fault for never speaking with Potter after the Battle here and answering questions Potter had tried asking and gave up bothering him with since.

Still, now he's doubly fucked with both Potter sneaking after him and Blaise acting all odd about changing his time in the alcove.

Draco's eyes narrow upon his parchment as he thinks about the timing of it all, about possible motives each idiot might have.

And when Potter eventually gives up, leaving after a half an hour when Draco doesn't even glance his way once, Draco sighs out a shaky breath and imagines what might have happened had Blaise not interrupted today...he silently thanks Zabini, no matter his friend's personal reasons, for saving his stupid arse.

 

\----

 

They're both up to something. He just knows it.

Zabini acted so odd and intervening somehow, and Malfoy didn't even _try_ to acknowledge his presence in the library today as he has been doing with a smirk or sneer the last few times.

Harry sits on the window ledge next to his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory, staring outside and feeling frustrated. Because not only are they both up to something, but now Harry feels...weird.

Stalking after a possibly plotting Malfoy is excusable, but going after a Malfoy who might be doing nothing harmful at all makes him feel wrong.

And Malfoy himself is creating all _sorts_ of weird reactions within Harry, too.

That smile won't leave his thoughts. The softness it had brought to Draco Malfoy's face had almost entirely changed the Slytherin's appearance. It is _proof_ that Malfoy _isn't_ all bad, just like Harry has considered for quite some time.

He blows his dark, unruly hair from his glasses and stares off, thinking of how tall Malfoy is and how shiny his pale hair is and how nice he looks in his robes.

When Ron enters and asks him what he's thinking about that's gotten him so rosy cheeked, Harry just shrugs him off, climbing into bed with his suppressed desires coming alive in his dreams again for him to wake, entirely aware to why he can't let anything go...to why he _must_ find out what it is that Malfoy does when he disappears.

 

\----

 

His change of plan seems to be working. Blaise smirks to himself when he continues to sit in front of Draco in the Great Hall, feeling the heat of Potter's annoyed eyes upon his back and Draco's own glare at his face simultaneously entertaining the shit out of him.

Even he follows Draco a bit after Charms, laughing to himself when Malfoy veers straight for the library and not the alcove, and Potter stares after his friend, completely confused.

He knows they need the bit of continued rivalry, but he doesn't want Potter bashing the hell out of Draco without knowing just what he's really hitting emotionally when he does.

Later that afternoon when Draco enters the dorm, looking a little more relaxed, Blaise rightly assumes his friend's gone to his new scheduled time in the alcove, and he only nods to himself, hoping that maybe Potter will chill out on his trailing after Draco a bit and go back to his glaring.

Two days later, though, Blaise rolls his eyes when Potter is in the library, watching Draco and casually following him back out and down the halls.

He should have known better.

Potter _never_ gives up.

 

\----

 

Draco knows Potter's trying to follow him again, and this time he makes the decision for _himself_ to avoid the alcove and go straight for the dorms before dinner. The little curse that echoes down the hall makes him fucking grin, and he decides that maybe _this_ is Blaise's little game—toying with Potter and himself to get them nagging each other for his amusement, of course, but giving Draco tools to agitate Potter more so than usual by subtly making him rearrange his schedule.

So Draco smiles to himself as he goes to dinner after dropping his things off on his bed, Zabini at his side as usual. They enter the Great Hall, and Draco at once feels the hot green eyes on him with almost _frustration_ , and it makes him laugh inwardly.

Blaise sits across from him, and just before he settles into his new spot, Draco briefly catches Potter staring at Zabini with something new. Something not just frustration at being thrown off his game, but something _new_ Draco's not seen before.

As he eats dinner quietly, Draco thinks. Debates.

The look is still in Potter's gaze when the two Slytherins get up to leave the Great Hall, and Draco believes he knows what it is then.

But he _cannot_ let himself really believe it's there. He must be wrong.

Because it would be disastrous for himself and these stupid feelings inside of him to walk out of the room thinking Potter was _jealous_ of Blaise Zabini.

 

\----

 

Almost two weeks pass.

Harry is about to snap as a result.

Malfoy is clearly onto him about some of his snooping, if he's adjusted his routine so much. The Slytherin hasn't gone to the alcove since that Harry can catch, and he's been in and out of the library mostly instead, ignoring Harry there.

It's maddening. Surely whatever was so important for Malfoy to be doing and Zabini to be in on as well didn't just...disappear, too?

Each day Harry grits his teeth when Zabini's tall body shields most of Malfoy from his vision across the Great Hall at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and each night Harry opens the Map in bed with his wand softly out for light, staring at Draco Malfoy's name in the Slytherin dorms and waiting.

He has no idea what it is that he's waiting for, but his gut says he will know when the time comes. And in the meantime, Harry's nearly lost his mind with dreams of Malfoy smirking at him around Zabini at dinners, of Malfoy slyly glancing his direction in the library, and of himself finally cornering the fucking snake against a hallway in the dungeons, gripping his fingers in that pale hair and kissing Malfoy's sneer away.

Harry's getting exhausted from waking to run to the bathroom and deal with the results of such dreams, shocked the first time he touches himself and whispers Malfoy's name, lost to the sensations that arise from the combination and have him coming and hissing through his clenched teeth.

Something has to give soon, he decides, still waiting for whatever it is he's waiting for to show itself. Something has to give, or he will, and Harry has _no_ idea what might happen if he does.

 

\----

 

He wakes yet again upon hearing the dorm door open and close, and he knows Draco's come back from using the alcove for the third time that week. The poor sod's been sneaking out at nearly one in the morning to do so, likely hoping to walk to it in peace without looking over his shoulder for Potter's suspicious face.

Blaise understands and is even encouraging of it, happy to keep the pair of them sneering and smirking in the halls and library and have Draco stay reserved to protect himself from Potter's advantage over him.

Even so, Blaise isn't stupid. He's seen the way Draco's become quieter since he's inserted himself between them as a partial buffer to help his silly friend, and he's _also_ seen how Potter's responded to it. Apparently the Chosen Gryffindor _doesn't_ like Blaise being in the way in the Great Hall, and he clearly detests Blaise in the halls or library, too, when he does venture in to sit by Draco and drive Potter insane with his additional presence.

Blaise is well aware of Potter's jealousy, and while it has made him feel less guilty about manipulating Malfoy around him and all, it makes him worry even more to himself. He's not sure if Potter is jealous simply because Blaise is throwing off their personal space they've always shared by butting his way in occasionally now.

He's considered that Potter is actually _jealous_ jealous, the kind that comes about when one fancies another person and feels threatened in it. Potter's behavior as of late certainly points to it, including the one very nasty glare sent to him just this evening at dinner when Blaise had risked a glance over his shoulder at Potter's table.

If he's honest with himself, Blaise can admit that he's a little afraid of Potter. Who wouldn't be after hearing how Potter killed the Dark Lord with Draco's wand? Who wouldn't be when he's _always_ come through anything awful like a shining knight, a roaring righteous lion?

Who wouldn't be when Potter thinks they're standing in the way of what is _his_ place?

And if that's true...then Draco isn't the only one with repressed emotions, and _that_ makes more sense than anything else ever has in his considerations of the pair through all these broken tourneys over the terms at Hogwarts.

Such thoughts nag Blaise as he sleeps and bat at him through class the next day, and he decides, silently, to perhaps just let things be. Blaise doesn't want to see Draco break, but his friend _isn't_ a weakling.

He begins the change by sitting next to Draco two days later, on a Thursday morning, at breakfast.

And when Draco and Potter both stare at him in mild surprise before turning to look at one another across the room in what is at first mutual relief before it becomes glares covering bared egos, Blaise understands.

He takes his place watching them again, sitting back and spectating.

But this time he's not rooting for Draco to overwhelm and smash Potter to bits, finally, after all these years. Nope. His money will make itself better with a new bet.

As he chews on his apple, Blaise smirks to himself and weighs his galleons on Draco still winning, but with him winning Potter _over_ , bringing them together with his cleverness instead.

 

\----

 

He's a bit thrown off by Blaise's sudden change of place again, but Draco has honestly stopped caring about it. There's bigger things to think about, like how Potter didn't look away from him much at all during breakfast, and how Potter didn't even try to _hide_ that he was following Draco right to the library after class, crowd between them or no.

Draco keeps to himself at his usual table with his work out before him, and Potter breaks expectation again by coming to sit in the chair opposite him.

Grey eyes lift up. The sneer habitually crosses his lips.

Green eyes brighten. The responding smirk bares itself.

And Draco shrugs at him and goes back to pretending he's reading anything at all out of his bloody Potions book while Potter sits there silently watching him, declaring his intentions.

Inwardly curious and very flustered at Potter's direct attentions on him, Draco subtly kicks Potter's shin under the table while turning a page in his book.

Potter groans at the brief pain and kicks back.

Draco takes the hit against his leg and tries one more time to get Potter fleeing away with a higher smack of his heel, very uncertain of just what the fuck is even happening anymore between the two of them.

But Potter hooks his foot around Draco's ankle, arms crossing over his broad chest, and smiles, the fucking twat.

Draco stares at him, not even trying to hide it as he attempts to comprehend the action and its meaning and the heat of Potter's leg to his own. And it's only with his own staring that Potter finally breaks a little, glances away and grows rosy through his cheeks, slumps in his chair and bends his knee to Draco's slightly.

With a tight swallow, Draco looks back to his book...but under the table he rubs his leg against the one currently wrapped around his, and across the table Potter sighs.

It's a sound of relief. Of want.

And Draco's heart pounds as they sit there for another almost forty minutes, silent, yet talking loads with their legs and feet constantly rubbing one another.

 

\----

 

Hermione would call it his ridiculous bravery making him play footsie with _Malfoy_ of all people in the fucking library. Harry calls it luck that the Slytherin didn't fight him, didn't hex him right then and there and instead played back until both of their legs were threaded through the other's beneath the table's surface.

Harry just knew that after Zabini's change again at breakfast that he had to act fast. He didn't know what was going on between the two Slytherins, and it made him nervous. Jealous. Afraid. If _anyone_ deserved Malfoy's attention, it's Harry, and damn it, he's going to get it.

When Malfoy slowly slides their legs apart and shuffles his things back into his bag, Harry almost chokes on his breath, unsure of what to do next. His foolish courage had gotten him that far, and Harry knows he needs more than that to keep going.

He needs to be _truthful_ with himself.

Harry silently rises as Malfoy starts striding away with those long, warm legs of his, and Harry smiles just the slightest bit when Malfoy pauses at the center aisle and looks over his tall shoulder, waiting on Harry to come on, then.

Instead of walking _behind_ Malfoy toward the Great Hall, Harry is in step at his side. Nervously he glances over and sees Malfoy looking everywhere but at him, and Harry bumps the stubborn snake's arm with his in reflex to be _noticed_.

Malfoy quickly looks to him, finally, stares but a single second, and as he faces forward again, he sends an elbow right into Harry's side and pushes past quicker into the condensing flow of students.

Harry feels immediately slighted, disappointed, and vaguely rejected in a different way than usual, but he sees the object of his confusion stop in the mixture of cross traffic.

Draco Malfoy glances back to him and smiles that happy way that Harry's seen nonstop in his daydreams and leaves Harry standing there, open mouth gaping and heart thudding harshly, as Malfoy walks confidently away to the Slytherin dorms.

 

\-----

 

The final match is approaching.

He can feel it in his gut.

Each glance between the pair of them while they eat, each time they walk _together_ to the library and back, he notes all of it, awarding them equal points anymore as they totally ignore everyone else around them and focus solely on each other.

And if Blaise is ready for it all to finally culminate, has been ready for it for years as a spectator, then he knows he can't begin to imagine how overdue _they are_ , too.

 

\----

 

It's highly amusing to see all the questions in Granger's and Weasley's matching faces when they encounter he and Potter side by side, not speaking at all but always looking at one another as if conversing in an entirely different way only they could understand.

Potter's apparently been avoiding his friends on the topic if his red face and blubbering excuses are anything when Draco sees the pair of Gryffindors practically tackle Potter away from him once or twice.

To be fair, though, Draco's not sure what Potter _could_ even explain.

None of it can be put into words. There's just _something_ going on, something jumping back and forth between them that uses glares and smirks to express itself, that pushes them to physically touch one another now in odd little manners like elbow shoving and ankles sliding up calves.

Whatever it is, Draco has never been so thrilled and so scared in his life.

He can feel the depth of his emotions for Potter. He has for some time. But like always, he's hidden it from everyone, including himself, to keep his ego safe. To keep his image safe.

The time for his heart's introduction to the world is coming, though. He feels it rapidly approaching, and when he sneaks out of the dorm to the alcove, desperately needing some relief from the thoughts Potter constantly inspires in him now, Draco knows the tipping point has come.

Draco has been using the alcove late at night to avoid Potter, and it's worked perfectly. He's had to use it almost nightly now with Potter being so bold and daring, weaving their legs together in the library twice a week without fail and following Draco to and from the Great Hall a few times a day.

But he knows as soon as he nears it this time that he isn't alone.

He feels the invisible eyes upon him watching. Waiting.

And Draco makes his decision, wand out and incantation murmured, and slowly walks inside the alcove, eyes wide as he feels the body press behind him when the wall magically shuts.

 

\----

 

The thing he's been waiting for finally shows itself one night when he cannot sleep yet again and is staring at the Map in bed with his curtains drawn tight.

Green eyes flare in surprise when Malfoy's little feet start to move suddenly, leaving the Slytherin dorms at almost two in the morning. Harry watches them go, his heart racing and spirit excited, feeling back in the _hunt_ , and he smirks when Malfoy's name disappears _exactly_ where it used to upon the parchment.

The sneaky fucking snake. He's _brilliant_.

Of course Malfoy wouldn't have stopped doing whatever he was up to doing.

Of course Malfoy would have simply gone around Harry's awareness by waiting until late at night to do whatever it is.

And of course Harry is thrilled, nerves alive throughout his entire body, as he counts the minutes until Malfoy's name reappears and the little feet walk themselves right back to their dorm.

By day he stares at Malfoy across the Great Hall, ignoring the demands from Ron and Hermione as to what the bloody hell is going on with him. By afternoons he walks by Malfoy's side, feeling excitement in the new little routine and magically enhanced somehow in confidence as everyone stares at them. Twice a week he still plays footsie under the table, grinning to himself when he slides into his chair and Malfoy's already got the tip of his foot around Harry's ankle and rubbing it.

But now by night he watches the Map, marking the days and times when Malfoy's little feet go adventuring, disappear, and return to bed.

At first the routine for this new development seems to be restrained to the same two days a week when Malfoy would disappear in the afternoons before. Over a brief spot of time, though, Harry sees the amount increase until it's almost nightly.

He must know. He _must_.

Because not only has he made his strange admiration and want of Draco Malfoy known to his old rival with their seeking legs and constant hall presences, but he thinks Malfoy is telling him something, too. He thinks that Malfoy wants him to figure it out, wants him to _know_ what he's up to.

Harry knows the wall that Malfoy vanishes into is barely open long enough to even let the Slytherin inside. He can't just show up _after_ the fact, or he'll be shut out until Malfoy leaves. No, to get _inside_ with him, he has to follow after him again, but with Malfoy going at random points throughout the nights of the week, Harry has to use a little magic. A little divination luck of his own.

He waits in the spot he remembers being the first time he saw Malfoy disappear, the cloak covering him head-to-toe in the dark with only torches for light in the dungeons.

Near one-thirty in the morning, Malfoy's little feet begin to move in the dorms on the Map. Harry quickly spells it shut and tucks it away under the cloak, holding his breath with anticipation.

He begins to hear echoes of a single pair of steps coming down the halls, and his chest tightens.

He hears the steps grow closer, sounding so _familiar_ in their rhythm, and he grins.

And then Draco Malfoy appears in his vision standing before the solid wall, dressed not in night clothes but in his clothes from earlier that day. The Slytherin seems to pause a moment, head cocked as if listening and hearing Harry's heavy breathing.

Malfoy waves his wand, mutters something quietly, and the wall begins to shift.

Beyond ecstatic, curious, and turned the fuck on, Harry Potter follows, rushing a little in the cloak to make it just in time.

The wall almost pinches shut on him in the darkness, and Harry swallows when he feels Malfoy pressed warmly against his front in what is _much tighter_ space than Harry had ever figured inside the secret spot.

Neither of them move at first. Neither speak or breathe.

But Malfoy slowly turns, Harry feels him revolve, and then long fingers reach right over his face, grab the cloak, and yank it down.

Harry can't see Malfoy in front of him, but he hears his fast breathing.

He can't see Malfoy staring at him, but he feels the face near his, their noses brushing.

He can't see Draco's closed eyes, but Harry imagines them as he leans forward, ready.

 

\----

 

Draco can barely breathe when Potter leans up to kiss him in the dark of the alcove.

His hands fist in the cloak and Potter's hair, his lips opening to the demanding tongue stroking them, and Draco's legs start to buckle slightly with him hunching in the tight space. He kisses back, snogs Potter with everything he's held inside of him for fucking years of torture, and barely restrains a moan when he feels insistent fingers slide down his sides to grip his waist.

Potter pushes closer into him with the kiss, and Draco finds his neck jammed between the ceiling and Potter and grunts, one hand moving out of the cloak to push a little at Harry's chest.

When Potter stops kissing him and sounds off a little bit of displeasure in his throat, Draco sighs and pulls his wand from his pocket, calling a soft _Lumos_ under his breath.

His excited grey eyes take in Potter's round green stare, notice Potter glance about until the Gryffindor comprehends how tight a space they're in and just silently nods.

Draco nods, too, feeling both empowered and scared for his life, and he waves his wand with a _Nox_ , putting out the light. He leans back until he can sit down on the little bench that he's spent so much time in here upon, touching himself to thoughts of the person right before him now, and Draco smiles in the dark when he feels Potter bend down to kneel between his legs, warm palms spreading themselves over Draco's thighs.

Lips bump his jaw a few times before they find his mouth in the dark, and Draco groans this time, palming Potter's head and holding him still for a deep kiss while his tongue explores and tastes and his heart slams repeatedly in his chest.

His trousers are straining against his erection, and his hands roam Potter's shoulders the way Potter's do up his legs and stomach.

He can't believe this is happening. But it is.

Potter's mouth leaves his to travel down his neck, sucking and licking, and Draco gasps, slides his fingers inside Potter's thin shirt to touch hot skin, digs them into a muscled back.

He hears the _sexy_ moan in his ear as Harry gently bites at his ear lobe, arms under his and around clasping his shoulders from behind and holding them tightly together.

Draco wants _everything_ here in the dark, in the magicked space that he's likely broken all the rules for in sneaking a Gryffindor into it with him.

He wants the physicality, the touch, the taste of Harry Potter.

He wants the sighs, the sounds, the music Potter makes with his voice and breath.

And he wants that Gryffindor heart all for himself, here in his palm that rests upon Harry Potter's chest.

“Mine,” Draco murmurs instinctively, nails scratching over the muscle there as he feels the heart pounding against his fingers.

“Yes,” Harry whispers, face pressed to his.

Draco smiles in the dark, kisses up Harry's cheek and nuzzles Potter's throat.

He feels one of Harry's palms slip down from his shoulder and rest over his heart, too, and he hears the soft possession when Potter also says, “ _Mine_.”

“Yes,” he agrees, lips to Potter's brow moving to kiss that famous scar. “Yours, you fucking arsehole. Always _yours_.”

Potter snickers against him, but angles his face for a kiss, fingers moving to grip at his hip. “I've spent _months_ wanting to figure out what you do in here...how you were vanishing away. You've always come alone, right?”

“Yes, Potter,” Draco quietly says. “Alone each time except for now.”

“And what do you do?”

“What do you _think_ I do?”

Harry rubs his nose to Draco's cheek and kisses his mouth firmly, stealing Draco's breath. “I imagined you were up to no good, and then I figured you were doing something to stay calm and level. Nothing bad at all.”

“Bastard. Always thinking the worst,” Draco admonishes and pushes at Potter slightly in retaliation.

But Potter holds firm to him and kisses him once more, admitting, “I know. I'm sorry. But I don't anymore. I even got...worried, when Zabini got in the way.”

“Worried?” Draco asks, wanting to _hear it_.

“Jealous,” Harry states, sounding annoyed.

Draco smiles, encouraged, and retorts, “And your response to your jealousy was to _openly_ stalk me from then on?”

“Maybe. Maybe I got tired of thinking about you all the time and wanted _you_ to have to think about me, too.”

Draco jerks Potter's head to the side and bites along the bared throat. “You imbecile. I've thought of little else for _years_.”

Harry laughs softly, warmly, and the hand on his hip shifts direction, moves southward until it's warm and heavy over Draco's hard cock and trousers. “Good.”

“Fuck you,” Draco scoffs, but grins against the lips pressing to his.

“Silly snake,” Harry teases and cups him, strokes over the trousers until Draco moans his name. “So tell me, Draco. Tell me what you do in here in _detail_.”

Draco's eyes almost roll back into his skull. “Potter, I... _mmph_. Merlin, that feels good.”

“I'll stop if you don't start talking.”

“Rotten scoundrel,” Draco groans again, feeling the warm fingers trace his shape and tease at the button of his trousers. “I...it's...it's for _relieving_ oneself. House secret. And if you tell _anyone_ , I'll break you, Potter.”

“Oh, I won't,” Harry assures him, lips at his ear. “But I said _details_ , Malfoy.”

“I...I touch....”

“Like this?” Potter asks, popping buttons and sliding his hand right under Draco's pants, wrapping his fingers around the heated cock hidden there.

Draco reclines his head as much as possible and lets his fingers trace Potter's bicep down to his wrist of the free hand resting on his thigh. “Yes,” he breathes out with a sigh.

“Who do you think about, Draco?”

He glares in the dark, smacking his brow with a small _thunk_ to Potter's. “Don't be a brat.”

Harry smiles against his cheek. “Fine. Know what, though?”

“What, Potter?” Draco asks, barely able to speak with that firm, possessive way Harry's grasp strokes him. He can barely register that they're really sitting here, that Potter is _touching him_ , doing everything he has done for months.

“I've been _thinking_ about _you_ , too,” Harry Potter admits with a hint of nervousness.

“Oh fuck,” he sighs, resigning himself to _those_ implications, to fate and Potter's will. “ _Oh_... _fuck_.”

And all Potter does is nod against him, seeming just as resigned, just as lost and bending to him.

 

\----

 

Harry's been lost since he'd seen that brief glimpse of Draco's flushed, gorgeous face in the light of his wand. Hell, he was likely gone to it all the second the wall had shut them in with the magic.

But he finally knows, and it's better than he ever imagined.

Harry knows what Draco Malfoy has been disappearing to do, yes, but....

He also knows what Draco Malfoy feels like to kiss, knows what the Slytherin tastes like and how smooth and hard his long cock is in Harry's hand. He knows what his dream self had always known would be there, and Harry succumbs to that tie between them, lips meshing with Draco's as he palms that heated hardness in his hand with desire.

The soft moans drive him wild, the little thrusts in the tight space into his fingers give him courage, and Harry nearly collapses when he feels insistent hands yanking him closer to find his zipper, to bring him out into the open and palm him, too.

“Draco,” Harry gasps, full of trust and want. “Merlin, Malfoy, _yes_.”

“That's right, Potter. I'm not about to be the _only_ one going mad in here,” Draco hisses in his ear, then sucks the lobe of it once.

Harry shudders against him, against that firm body he's dreamed about for a while now. Something in him urges to dominate like it does then in those sexy moments of prowess he hasn't felt much otherwise, and Harry gives into the feeling, takes claim of the next kiss and rubs the pad of his thumb under the head of Draco's cock after his latest sliding squeeze.

The whimper below him is hot, and Draco strokes him well, almost breaking his concentration and desire to go _further_. Harry kisses him enough to distract the gorgeous snake, and when Draco starts to let go of him to hold his face and deepen the kiss, Harry smirks and backs away, bending lower to kiss a path across Draco's throat to the open buttons of his shirt.

Malfoy sucks in air, and his long fingers grip Harry's tousled hair, and Harry decides to try something he's dreamed about extremely recently after seeing those little Malfoy feet move along the Map so late.

Nervously, Harry tilts his face, feeling with the tip of his nose and guiding his hand full of Slytherin cock until they touch and his warm breath teases smooth skin. Draco cries out, nails dig into Harry's scalp, and for _once_ in Malfoy's life, Draco makes a soft plea.

“I...I want...I've thought of...Merlin, Potter, make it so,” he whispers above Harry once. And once is enough.

Harry's nervous ego is entirely soothed, petted, and encouraged like the big cat form it often decides to take into action. He closes his eyes despite the utter darkness and opens his mouth, brushing his tongue right against the cock so close to his nose. When Malfoy gasps and clenches his thigh muscles around Harry, fingers flexing in his hair in reflex, Harry smiles to himself and does it again and again, losing himself to the strange taste and scent of experience he's never had before.

His lips part over the head of it, and in his mind he sees what he's doing in the darkness just like he had in the one dream. Gently he moves back and forth, taking a little more each time before withdrawing briefly for another lick and even a kiss to the side of the shaft still in his now slippery fingers.

Draco moans, and the sound nearly _breaks_ him with rawness that he's just heard, and he can feel the Slytherin arch his back as much as possible towards Harry as Harry lowers his mouth again and takes more, sliding away to suckle slightly before resuming a steady rhythm. Draco's arms lie heavily about his shoulders for a second while he tries to find a way to deal with the onslaught.

Harry just hopes it's enough. He hopes he's anything decent because he's never done this before, never thought about doing this before with another bloke, but he knows he wants it _now_ with this fucking snake that's driven him mad for years. His free fingers roam under Malfoy's trousers over his stomach and about his hips, cup his sac and get a shout of pleasure for his efforts when the timing combines with a tiny accidental grazing of his teeth, and then he feels Draco reaching desperately for him and takes the hand grasping over his forearm in the dark.

Long, slender fingers he's admired for months in the library weave through his, tighten them together, and Harry finds a strange sense of peace and comfort as Malfoy bucks beneath him, thrusts awkwardly upward with his hips over the stone bench, and clenches his fingers in Harry's hair so tightly Harry actually feels pain. Thankfully it's pain that crosses with pleasure, and his own demanding need is pulsing and ready and wanting, too.

“ _Potter_ , yes! Fuck, _yes_!” Malfoy almost cheers him on with racing, breathy words. “So _close_.”

Harry guides their clasped fingers back downward to his own cock, notes the exact moment that Draco snaps aware to what he's doing, and sighs inwardly as Malfoy tries to return how he feels, tries to touch him as much and with as fierce a possession in those slender fingers soft upon him while groaning louder and louder above Harry's head.

He comes the moment after Draco does, entirely amazed by the intensity of Draco's visceral, yet soft cry of his name. Not his surname. Not any number of insulting or bantering names. His _name_.

Draco Malfoy falls apart, moaning his name over and over in the secret Slytherin space.

“Harry,” Draco whines, holding Harry's head closer instinctively as he teases his thumb about the head of Harry's cock.

Harry can barely swallow without choking as he shifts back enough, feeling Draco's physical accompanying response to that moan slide down his throat safely. He tightens, everything within him tightens, and he bursts, relaxing only when he feels Draco keep hold of him, as if trying to claim every bit of Harry that releases.

They pant in the tight space that feels even smaller now, darker and with less air between the two of them gulping loudly. Harry briefly kisses the tip of Draco's very nice cock before resting his lightning scar right to Malfoy's chest, right to Draco's heart.

Draco finally lets go of him with a soft sliding squeeze, and then arms rest upon Harry's back, holding him close. Lips brush the back of his head. Fingers stroke along his neck and shoulders.

And Harry, _finally_ , feels like he can breathe for the first time in _months_.

“Tomorrow,” Draco murmurs above him a few silent moments later. “Same time.”

Harry grins against the warm skin and soft pressed shirt. “Okay.”

Draco shifts for a moment, and then there's a soft light again from the tip of that wand Harry knows so well, and Harry stares upward. He sees the grey eyes become gentle and anxious and then grow bold like he loves before they _smolder_.

“What?” he asks, curious at that stare upon him.

“Tomorrow,” Draco repeats one more time, adding, “is your turn, Potter.”

Harry smiles and reaches up, eyes wide open when he kisses Draco Malfoy in the light.

 

 

\----

  
Blaise hears the door creak when Draco returns.

He eyes Draco's breathless form as he enters the room with a swagger in the low light, clothes entirely mussed and hair sticking several directions. There's a large mark on his neck right at his collar, and it's nearly as red as his clearly kissed lips are.

Draco seems to try to shake off whatever has got him in its grip, but the stupid, dazed smile is still there as he thinks about it nonetheless.

Blaise's brow goes up before his smirk follows, and he grabs for his notes next to his bed while his friend changes into pajamas, marking a large tally next to Draco's name and circling it with a smile.

This tourney is finally over.

But it seems a new one, a different one than any before, has begun.

 

 

 

 


End file.
